Against All Odds
by DaemonWelsh
Summary: Noble 6. A mystery, and Lone Wolf, is pitted against insurmountable odds. With a bit of help from fate, can he escape his destiny? Will he survive Reach, and discover where all Spartans go? R&R. Halo does not belong to me. OC are mine, however.
1. The end of 6

"NO! I said DIE ALREADY!" Raged noble 6, as another elite popped out from behind a rock, with a sword in hand. 6 fired a wave of green plasma at him, and the White armored elites shields popped. The elite spat at 6, before charging, blade in hand. 6 caught the elites wrist, and guided the blade away from his body, bringing his own knife up through the throat of the elite, and recharging his shields from the elites wasted energy core.

"_I'm glad that ONI finally gave us a good bit of armor..."_

"_Good? What are you talking about? This armor doesn't recharge its shields, except when you steal the energy from a different source!"_

"_Exactly. You know me and my knife. We love to get in close"_

"_You're crazy. That armor will get you killed one day."_

6 smiled at the thought, at how often this armor had saved his life, and how often 132 got into close quarters, and wished she had his armor. The point was moot now. She died from having no shields, and picking a fight with a hunter. The Hunter itself lay dead on the dust of reach. Now just a hollow shell.

6 pulled away from the now dead elite, and saw several more come out of the dust. They were still coming? Suddenly, exhausted, 6 wished that he didn't have to keep fighting, that he could just... die.

"_Spartans never die. We just go missing in action. Ever hear about Kurt?"_

Kurt. One of the few Spartans to come home.

His thought were interrupted again, as another elite came charging, with a pair of plasma rifles in hand, firing as it ran. 6 dodged behind the rock, and waited for the Elite. As it came around, 6 jammed the overloaded plasma pistol into its face, breaking the shields with a punch, and glassing the creatures head. He dropped it, he was pretty sure it was out of charge right now, before grabbing a plasma grenade from off the elites belt, priming it, dropping it, and running. The yell of death, and surprise from the elites behind him was satisfying.

A grunt was shooting at him from on top of one of the buildings, firing away at him with a fuel rod cannon. 6 dropped and rolled, as a wash of bright green plasma impacted behind him, blowing up the rock he had just used as cover. 6 glanced towards the grunt, pulled out his sidearm, and pulsed the trigger lightly. The grunts mask fell away from where the head had been, and the body was sent tumbling over from the force of the blow.

"_They do this. Send the Elites in first, then waves of grunts, with the elites hiding behind them. Guess they learned more from Thermophile than we did."_

More grunts came charging out of the dust, and this time, a Wraith came in from behind. 6 sprinted forwards, grabbing a grunt by its head, throwing it at the others, while taking its pistol, and then leaping on top of thew wraith. It hit the ground from his weight, before the Anti-grav pad stabilized. In the time it took to do so, the elite that was gunner had a head full of mush, and the driver was dead from plasma. 6 tore the driver out and dropped into the seat, pulling out one of his special toys. It was an AI that linked to his armor, and allowed him to drive the vehicle from the gunner's seat, while firing. A neat trick, but nowhere near as good as having another Spartan shoot while he drove. Still, it got the job done.

As he plowed into an elite with the tank, he heard a phantom fly over head, presumably to drop more troops. He had a wicked idea, and drove to right under the phantom, even as it disgorged more troops, 6 had leaped up, barely catching the lip of the phantom, receiving quite a few shots from plasma rifles for his troubles. He climbed in, and ripped the pilots door open, before slicing the grunts head off with his knife.

The phantom pulled away from the fight, as 6 recalled one of the standing mission directives for him. It was ONI, and his orders were to attempt to capture a Covenant star-ship. They had until now been uncompleted.

But now he had a phantom.

Still, he needed a bit of rest. 8 days of non-stop fighting, countless injuries. He needed to catch a break.

"_Rest when you're dead marines!"_

But for now, he would keep going.


	2. A time of rest

Against all Odds.

Even as 6 flew through the air, he could see Reach. It had been his home, his planet, and it tore at him as he left the atmosphere. Every shot the Covenent cruisers fired, glassing another portion of the planet, was a scar on his spirit. It was like he was tied to Reach.

And then he wasn't. It was odd. His heart suddenly felt... lighter. Like the stress he had taken on had just left him. Instinctively he knew, Reach was dead. There was no tugging on his spirit, and he felt... Free.

Glorious.

It gave him the strength he needed to go on. Not unlimited, but enough to get through one more day. It was all he would need for now.

"_Control yourself Spartan. Every single action you do has a cost. Every mistake you make, and every success. As a Spartan, more often than not, you're actions will cause death. Do things deliberately, and act with intent. Or more will die."_

6 set the phantom to head towards the docking bay of its original cruiser, and waited. It would take him about 30 minutes to get there, and with the help of his little AI, he could deal with the response/counter response that the covies sent at him. Enough time for a nap.

So he slept.

Sorry for the short chapter, and the lateness of it. I originally planned a one chapter a day thing, but what with thanksgiving and such, I had to go and deal with family. I promise it will get better as time goes on, and I really need a couple more reviews.

Your Rights Are My Rights

Thank you for your review, and as far as I can tell, I have no plans whatsoever for 6 (still trying to think of a name) to hook up with the master chief at all prior to the Dawn. Thanks for reviewing, and any future thoughts would help a great deal.

~Daemonwelsh


	3. A crack in the reality matrix

A crack in the reality Matrix

A wave of plasma shook the phantom, forcing 6 out of his nap. Immediately he went to work figuring out what the hell was going on. A quick glance at his mission clock told him he slept for 27 minutes, and was due to arrive at the cruiser in 3 minutes. A second wash of plasma told 6 exactly what was going on. He checked the phantom's internal sensor array, and sure enough, there was a squadron of 10 covenant anti-aerospace banshee's.

6 sent the phantom into a series of dodges and rolls, reversing thrusters, and boosting forward, succeeding in delaying the further attacks of the banshee's. Still, time was running out, and as 6 rolled under a hail of shots from the leading banshee, he sent a command to his AI to lower the shields.

Nothing happened.

Confused, 6 sent the command again, and flipped the phantom around so he could fire on the banshees. Again, the AI didn't respond. 6 checked the AI crystal, and found that it was pouring all of its processing power into a task, and could not be interrupted at the time. 6 swore, and rolled the phantom again, lining it up for a quick strafe against the banshee's, and then manually dialing up the ships systems. It took him a good couple of minutes to get around firewalls and cyphers, but he got a small portion of the shield down, and that was purely accidental. He hit the auto dock button on the dash, and felt the phantom slow, and land in the first cargo bay.

Yirp watched as the rogue phantom docked in front of him. He had been assigned by one of the Sanghali to destroy whatever came out of that ship, and there was talk of a Demon on it. It would bring honer and glory to Yirp's clan, and though he was sterile, his family would be allowed to breed, and many of his brethren would be allowed to become deacons.

Yirp shivered in fear. He prayed there was no Demon inside, as with all other Unggoy, he feared that the Sanghali sense of honor would get him killed. Still no backing out of it, so Yirp hefted the biggest weapon he was allowed to carry, a heavily modified Focus Rifle. Whether the modifications would be better, or worse, was about to be tested.

The hatch opened, slowly.

Grenades came raining down upon it.

And nobody noticed 6 drop from the grav lift, and sprint towards the nearest exit.

* * *

Authors notes:

SaberXJ

Thanks for your review. I admit, that 6 should have been able to get off Reach, but he didn't. Too much conspired against him, and, if you read back in the second chapter of this fiction, you'll notice that Reach had its own presence, which forced 6 to remain. Or at least tried to. That's how I explained his death in the games, and also how I explain why 6 was able to get through combat as he left atmo. Your help would be appreciated, and I can always use a beta reader.

Your Rights Are My Rights

Thank you for your review, and yeah, I can understand being ever so miffed... Just fyi, I am a student. I had this whole bloody week off. It was glorious.

To everyone else, thanks for reading, I would love a few more reviews. Also, I might be lookin for beta readers, and I am always in need of more ideas. If you have any questions, ill do my best to answer them.

~Daemonwelsh


	4. Infiltrator sans armor

Six sprinted for the door that was marked with green, praying to his ancestors of spirit, the ancient Spartans, he ducked behind a holographic console embedded into one of the walls. Calming himself and becoming seemingly statuesque, the elite that walked by saw nothing as the door Six himself had been heading towards opened to admit the elite.

Nearly swearing at his misfortune, six pondered what to do next. His first thoughts where to blow through the elites like he had on numerous occasions, but with his armor barely holding together, and an enemy AI aboard the ship, six knew that was no option.

Instead he opted to locate either engineering, or the command deck, so he could sabotage the ship when it moved to jump through slip-space. Chuckling a little he thought to himself, 'Never let it be said that Spartans won't go out with a bang.' That thought brought his heart a small pang of grief as he thought of Jorge.

With a grim smile on his face, Six pinged his AI once again. This time his armors computers responded not with a busy signal, but instead with a system diagnostics. On a different occasion, Six may have smiled at the little glitch, but today, it could mean his death. Thinking on his options, Six realized that he would need to hide his armor while it ran diagnostics for its projected next eleven hours.

Moving away from the terminal now that he thought the coast was clear, Six moved himself towards the door the elite had entered, it opened and was thankfully empty. Quickly moving inside, he looked for an open panel, knowing it should lead to a maintenance access. Not finding one in the corridor, Six moved on, pulling out the last weapon he had access to that would help him should he needed it. It was an old Combat knife, given to him and all the Spartans on graduation day.

Gripping the blade, six moved cautiously down the corridor, before turning a corner and spying the access he needed to enter. Moving to it, he realized it would definitely be a tight fit, but manageable. Slipping into the entrance, six found himself stuck, as either a wire or panel had not moved enough to let him enter the maintenance pathway. Cursing quietly, Six almost turned bone white when he heard incoming footsteps, as his leg was still in the path way. Quickly thinking, he pushed and pulled with all his strength, after grasping the edge of a bar above his head. Puling himself up, he barely fit, leg and all in time for the footsteps to draw near. Silent as a grave and still as a statue, Six held himself waiting for the pounding steps to move by him. As they did, he allowed himself to inch down, shifting his legs so that when he came down, he would slip fully into the maintenance pathway, with enough room to disassemble his pitted, scarred, burned, and melted armor.

Ten minutes past. A second patrol moved by him, as did a third. Twenty minutes went by, and six had stashed most of his armor up high and out of reach. Thirty minutes and he had the final pieces hidden away, even as a grunt moved down the maintenance path and he repeated his performance from earlier.

Finally having divested himself of his armor, Six crept further into the ship, with only standard issue clothing, a small data-pad with which to map his way around, and a knife, the odds against him were stacked heavily.

Fortunately, Spartans enjoy those kinds of odds.

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Yes, I am off Hiatus for this.

its a short chapter, as I am want to do, but I hope you all enjoy it.

Please review if you are so inclined.


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